Lyra

I never liked my name.

It’s a constant reminder of my mother, who lost her mind long before I was born. Lyra, she said, you’re as beautiful as a harp and as fragile as its strings; lovely to listen to and easy to break. She loved my voice, as she lacked the gift of sight, and my voice was her only window to the world. That’s why she named me Lyra.

I often lied to paint a prettier picture than reality offered; turning ugly into beautiful and falsehoods into truths. My mother lived a harsh life, and during the moments of silence, she fought her inner demons, which were often anything but pretty. In those quiet times, I wanted to create a beautiful image of the outside world for her, a world she never saw or experienced. So, like a lyre, I spoke of tales and beauty, soothing her until she fell asleep, leaving me alone with my own dark thoughts.

At just twelve years old, I had to take care of both of us. Growing up poor in the slums of Vixengaard, we often made do with a quarter of a stale, moldy loaf of bread. I quickly realized that the wealthier a place, the poorer its people. The rich grew richer, and the poor grew poorer. I wasn’t angry at this; it was simply the natural order of the world. It was then I decided to become like those who looked down on me; no matter what it took, I would gain the wealth I dreamed of and help my mother. But little did I know, the price of riches would come at a steep cost.

Vixengaard, known as the City of Magic, was both my hell and my heaven. It offered a chance: you could remain at the bottom, or you could rise to its heights. Those born with magical abilities were promised a clear path to success; at least, that’s what we were taught. The truth was, if you weren’t of noble mage blood or a child of some wealthy merchant who built their fortune on the backs of the poor, you’d never be a part of the Arcane University of Vixengaard. The best you could hope for was a maid’s position, and even for that, you needed a certificate of magehood, which still cost a fortune.

While magic is attainable by all races, the Western Realms, home of the mages, were primarily human lands. Not being of noble blood or wealthy presented another obstacle to achieving my dreams: I was of a different race, a race considered inferior—a half-elf.

Had I been a pure elf or any other race aside from beast-folk, I might have had a chance to make a name for myself. Half-elves were seen as tainted, spoils of war, or children born from prostitutes and fathered by elves. Society preferred to label women as prostitutes rather than admit that elves could be rapists. Thus, society saw my mother in that manner, and they labeled me as a bastard.

Despite my “foul blood,” I still possessed magic—a rare fire magic coursed through my veins, and it was the only thing about me that held any value. I believed it was a blessing, one that could save us from our dire circumstances.

But even the rarest and strongest blessings can’t change who you are, and the world doesn’t forget easily.

The day I awakened my magic was the day my mother stopped calling my voice beautiful. She claimed greed tainted it, and that the fire now flowing through my veins was a curse. I didn’t understand her words back then, so, like any child, I lashed out and said things I didn’t mean, things I could never take back.

Young and naive, I wanted to achieve everything I ever dreamed of overnight. My actions were driven by greed and desperation, and it was these impulses that led me to where I am today, stuck ever since. To gain a little, I was willing to lose everything. I waited at the gates of the old Arcane University, the one that stood on the soil of Vixengaard and was not high above the clouds. I showcased my fire magic like a street performer each morning and nightfall. At first, the people I aspired to be like one day gave me many disgusted looks. They belittled me, laughed at me, threw things, and often used their magic to harm me.

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This led to many nights where I silently cried in the corner of our tiny, one-bedroom room. For the first time, my voice painted an actual picture of the world to my blind mother, devoid of the lies I used to tell to comfort her.

I covered the burns on my flesh with dirty rags and the bruises on my face with a smile. Determined to change the cruel fate my mother and I endured, I returned each day like a stray cat. Over time, the mages learned to ignore me, just as they would a stray. Through scorching heat, I stayed at the gates, thirsty; during the cold winters, I remained, freezing. Throughout it all, I stayed hungry—hungry for food and power. I wanted to burn the academy to the ground and see all those who ignored me suffer. What had I done to deserve such treatment? What sin had I committed that even the rats in Vixengaard’s sewers received more love than me? I wanted everyone to feel my pain, to suffer unimaginably. I wanted their disdain to become justified, so I wouldn’t feel guilty for what I was about to do.

The fire and hatred in my eyes burned so brightly that they attracted the vilest eyes there were. Lilith of the Veilsong family, a lineage of blood mages, met my gaze and developed a strange fixation with me. She promised me the finest dresses and jewelry, an education at the academy, and assured me that my mother would be moved from the slums to the upper town and taken care of. The only thing I had to do was become her pet. And so I did. Nothing worse could happen to me than what I had already endured, right?

My mother moved to one of the finer inns, where she even had her own maid, while I enrolled in the academy. Though dressed in the same pretty clothes as the other kids, I wore a pair of golden bracelets that looked like jewelry but were actually chains regulating how much magic I could produce. I knew this before entering a pact with Lilith, but little did I know those accursed bracelets held more secrets—they made me a slave.

The worst days were when Lilith summoned me to her office. There, I learned what being her pet truly meant: torture in the name of science and blood manipulation in the name of training. Several times, I nearly lost my life to her so-called classes. One day, she decided my half-elf ears were ugly, so she dissected and molded them to look human. From that day on, she called me beautiful and pure, her eyes dancing with lust. At first, her fixation made me uncomfortable, but over time, I got used to it.

Soon after, my mother died. They said it was suicide; seeking the light, she jumped from the window. She claimed her vision had turned dark and ugly, as if she hadn’t been blind since birth. She wanted her daughter’s beautiful voice to light up her world again. But no matter how much I begged, Lilith wouldn’t let me see her. “You are mine, and mine alone,” she would say, then beat me to a pulp. I was trapped in the place where I once dreamed of living forever, and my mother died, leaving me alone.

Time passed, and with it, my life. Turning to fine clothes and shiny jewelry, I saw them as blessings, but deep down, I knew they were just masks to cover the ugly truth. I pretended my magic was a blessing when I knew it was the very thing that brought me misfortune. I lived a life of lies because I was too afraid to face the truth.

Then you came along, and with just a few words, shattered all my lies, breaking the perception I had convinced myself was true. Your words stripped me of all the dresses and expensive jewelry, leaving me bare and vulnerable. You treated me like you would anyone else. Even when you were harsh, it wasn’t because of my race; it was because you cared. No one, except my mother, had ever made me feel that way. You are a stranger from another world, sent to save me. But I am beyond saving—or maybe I just don’t want to be saved. We get exactly what we think we deserve, and I don’t deserve much, especially not your helping hand. I am truly grateful to you.

If I can ask one thing of you, please don’t forget about me. Wherever you are in the world, remember me. I need you to remember, so I won’t be forgotten and can live forever in your mind as a free person.

For now, I’ll stand in this corner and watch as you sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and I’ll be here when you leave me behind.

Thank you, Valerian.